Esi Edugyan - The Second Life of Samuel Tyne

Some people carry a portrait of themselves in their voices; others have voices so incongruous that when we meet them we feel we’ve somehow been lied to. Samuel had expected, had hoped , that Mrs. Ouillet’s voice would prove deceitful. Instead, he found her so like the crass, underweight matron in his mind’s eye that his accuracy startled him.

When he held out his hand for her to shake, she looked past him. She had a ruddy face, with deep lines etched darkly under her eyes. Like Ama, her hair had different hues in it, from rust to the whitest grey, yet the older woman seemed to neglect hers, and it dropped in matte strands from her bun. Her lips were full and pink, their vibrancy almost vulgar on so worn-out a face. Her pale grey eyes refused to rest on anything, and she looked distractedly around her.

Nudging past Samuel, she began to fuss over Ama. She smelled of hot maple syrup and tobacco, a pleasant mixture.

“She is feeling much better,” he said. “Very much on the mend.”

Mrs. Ouillet didn’t acknowledge he’d spoken, scrutinizing Ama’s knees and cursing in French. The angularity of her body, her excess flesh, made Samuel guess she’d once been immense. Experience had taught him large women were a force to contend with.

Maud gave Samuel a look of dread.

“Won’t you stay to tea?” she said.

“Grandmère, voulez stay for thé ?” said Ama.

Without acknowledging the Tynes, who stood quite foolishly behind her, Mrs. Ouillet spoke to Ama in rapid French.

Ama’s face coloured, and she looked hesitant. “Je ne comprends pas.”

“‘Je ne comprends pas,’” said Mrs. Ouillet, shaking her head. “Ah, seigneur. Tu me tues .”

Grabbing hold of Ama’s sleeve, Mrs. Ouillet shoved the girl onto the creaking porch. When Samuel attempted to help her with the carpet-bag, Mrs. Ouillet slapped his hand away, saying, “Tut tut tut tut,” in an ascending voice. “Lâche-le.”

Samuel stepped out after them, watching Mrs. Ouillet force Ama into a rusted-out white van. When the van drove out of sight, he turned to see his wife behind him. He studied her thin face for signs of remorse and, seeing none, pushed past her without speaking. Grabbing his keys, he went for a drive to clear his mind.

Always at the back of Samuel’s mind these days was the burden of finding the twins a new school for September. Putting off the task had simply added to his misery. He’d been so distracted he’d selected a school that had burned down years ago for the twins to attend. Maud had rebuked him: “Guess again, Sherlock.” For cultural reasons, he’d then selected the Aster General School, which had stood in Aster since 1913 and was now in its geriatric phase, slowly losing students to the city the way an old man loses his wits. Maud hadn’t even answered that suggestion. He was now deliberating over a school in Edmonton, though in a perfect world they’d be able to attend the same school as Ama.

For all his distraction, it rarely occurred to Samuel that he was involved in illicit dealings with his neighbour. The phone call that put him in possession of a house, the providential ladder, the mown lawn, the discovery of the actual property lines and his wife’s recent lie about her visit all heightened his paranoia of what to expect next. What exactly did Porter want from him? Why did he not make good on whatever his subtle actions were trying to express? Samuel had waited a useless month for something to happen. But almost as soon as he allowed himself to forget it, he received two letters.

It was a cold day and the mailbox was still full when he returned from work. Setting his toolbox down, Samuel sifted through the flyers and found the first note. His name had been laboured over in huge handwriting, the envelope opaque in places with grease stains. Intuiting who it was from, he crushed it into his pocket. He almost missed the second note because it was stuck to a flyer. A telegram from Gold Coast. He felt a pang of anxiety: Why hadn’t he written back to Ajoa last month? Why was he so stingy with his money whenever his mother demanded it? Surely he could send her sums above the regular monthly cheque? He tore at the seal with bated breath. After reading, he raised his eyes to the yard, and its familiarity, its unchanged beauty, struck him as perverse. Dazed, he went inside, placing his hat and the telegram on the stand of false, dusty roses. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled and sat on the bottom step of the staircase. A crash stunned him from his stupor. At first he thought it had originated outside, but when he heard the commotion coming from the living room, he rose wearily to his feet.

In his decrepit years, imprisoned by arthritis and the knowledge that he’d soon die, Samuel would remember this scene. For a moment he’d stood in the doorway, unable to enter. He felt the terrible energy in the room, which set his nerves on edge and led him to expect the worst. The twins stood in the centre, with their backs to the entrance. Only when Chloe turned her head was Samuel propelled by his anxiety into the room. He’d been struck not so much by the distress on her face as by the feeling it was feigned. Overwhelmed, he pushed past her.

On the far edge of the carpet, beside the silver ladder, lay Maud. Her leg had buckled unnaturally under her, her face in awe of the pain. Her breathing was ragged. Samuel kneeled and raised her head onto his thigh. She seemed on the verge of fainting.

“My leg,” she said in a damp voice.

Samuel touched a thumb to her lips to keep her from exhausting herself talking. Her whole body was moist. He scowled in the direction of the ladder. Porter will not rest until he has killed this family . The twins approached and stood over them. And the pained looks on their faces softened Samuel’s anger a little.

“It’s not their fault,” said Maud in a strained voice. She was still able to give Samuel a look of rebuke. “They didn’t do this. I set the ladder wrong.”

Samuel set Maud’s head on the carpet. It hadn’t even entered his head to blame the twins, but hearing Maud’s pleas, he was filled with a dreadful certainty they had done something. Avoiding their eyes, he left the room.

Maud sensed his intention. “Don’t call the ambulance, Samuel, don’t! I’m fine. Let’s just drive there ourselves.”

Samuel hung up the phone and brought the car round. They made the hour-long drive to Edmonton (rather than go to the local hospital Maud insisted on the Edmonton General so the neighbours would not have to know) in silence. Samuel kept glancing at the twins in the rear-view mirror. Not a trace of emotion could be read on their faces.

At the hospital the girls stayed in the car. Maud was rushed into emergency, leaving Samuel to sit in the waiting room. The more he tried to suppress thoughts of his daughters, the worse they assailed him. He distracted himself by trying to guess what the other people in the waiting room were enduring. A fat man in a plaid shirt stared at an envelope in his hand, and Samuel realized that he had forgotten the letter he’d tucked in his pocket. Samuel went outside for privacy.

Though it was still sunny, a mean rain had started to fall, growing more violent by the minute. A devil’s rainstorm. Samuel crouched under the awning, contemplating a drop of water on the brim of his hat. As he read the stained letter, an orderly called his name.

Maud’s internal organs were just fine, but she had a hairline fracture in her tibia and the very tip of her toe bone had been crushed. “We just need a few hours to fit her with a cast, and then she’s all yours,” said the man.

Samuel grunted his consent.

“Now,” continued the orderly, “you can have fifteen minutes with her before we begin the resetting. Tell a few jokes. Lift her spirits a little.” He winked.